


Fresh Off the Boat

by Gebo



Series: The Great Belle Heist [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Plunkett and Macleane (1999)
Genre: Anyelle, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gebo/pseuds/Gebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thestraggletag prompted: He’s surprised to find a noblewoman who isn’t dressed like some damn peacock. Or who would laugh at his jokes, or engage him in conversation. He wonders if he could steal her away the same way he does everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Off the Boat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Stragg’s prompt in the Anyelle Fic Fest. I will most likely continue this story as well as the Frock Coat one. Huzzah!

They had arrived in the colonies only a few days before. From the moment his boots touched the blessedly solid ground, Plunkett noticed the differences between this New World and mother England. For one thing, it was so much cleaner. Despite the lush green plants surrounding the bay, the ground itself seemed to defy the mud. The roads were mostly paved, if unevenly, and the skies were clean. Perhaps it was simply the promise of a new life in this place that skewed his perception, but he could find only two words to sufficiently describe America:   
  
“Fuckin’ brilliant.”   
  
So they had made their way to a respectable looking inn, paid for two rooms, and settled in for a well-deserved sabbatical.   
  
Plunkett took to roaming the streets and shops for several hours at a time, Jamie and Rebecca having formed the habit of spending whole days inside their shared room with the door securely locked. Today, on a dreary gray afternoon, was no different. Plunkett, admittedly, was going a bit stir crazy. Here he was in a beautifully open world and all he had done for the better part of a week was sit in a cozy little room or wander aimlessly around the town. He wanted excitement! His fingers were itching to pull a trigger. His nose was pining for the scent of black powder.   
  
As he turned the next corner, Plunkett ran one hand through his hair. The other hand reached for his belt. More out of habit than anything, he had his Queen Anne tucked securely there, loaded and primed. He patted the firearm fondly, fingers drumming against the stock. He needed to do something, shoot something. He needed…   
  
Ah! There! Just on the outskirts of town was a small lake, more of a pond really. And in the pond swam a few plump ducks. Plunkett smiled lopsidedly. Not only would he be able to scratch an itch, but he would successfully say that he had bagged his own dinner tonight. The cooks at the inn, he was sure, would be able to make something of the bird.   
  
As he reached the edge of the pool, he paused, watching the ducks with a keen eye. Then with practiced precision, he leveled the pistol in one smooth movement, cocked, and fired it. The resulting BANG echoed around him, but he didn’t miss the startled shriek that came from behind a nearby oak tree. He stared at the tree with narrowed eyes until a pale little face surrounded by rich russet curls peaked out from behind the trunk.   
  
“What on earth are you doing?!” she exclaimed, looking flustered.   
  
Plunkett opened his mouth and then closed it again when he realized he really had nothing to say or any real desire to defend himself against this pretty young woman. She stepped out from behind the oak and stared at him as if he were a savage.   
  
“Do you make it a habit of going about waving firearms at young noblewomen? Or is this a sudden whim that took you?”   
  
Plunkett grinned, but thought better of stating the simple truth that, yes he had, until recently, been known for that very thing. Instead, he holstered the Anne and gave a polite little bow.   
  
“I apologize, miss, but please don’t be alarmed. Were you my mark, I can assure you I wouldn’t have missed.” His smile grew as her brow furrowed slightly at his words.   
  
“I’m not certain that was meant to reassure me, sir.” She stepped forward and Plunkett had to admire her bravery in approaching the man who might’ve just shot her. He let his eyes scan her from the top of her perfectly groomed brunette head to her surprisingly un-scuffed shoes. She was really very pretty if he did say so himself. By the time he realized that he was staring, she had placed the book she was carrying in one hand and was offering the other to him.   
  
“Belle French. And you are…?”   
  
He looked at the proffered hand and blinked slowly. Her hand was so delicate, so elegant, so clean. With a glance down at his own filthy hand, he did his best to inconspicuously wipe it of on his waistcoat before gently taking her hand and bending to press a feather-light kiss upon her knuckles. It seemed wrong of him to dirty her in this way, but the lady had offered.   
  
“William Plunkett, miss.”   
  
“And what is your profession, master Plunkett?”   
  
Plunkett panicked for a moment before arriving upon a suitable answer.   
  
“’M an apothecary, miss. Just arrived from London this week.”   
  
“Ah!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. Slightly surprised by the outburst, Plunkett took a hasty step back. “How exciting that must have been! So see the oceans of the world!”   
  
Plunkett bit back a reply that, in fact, it had been a long and grueling journey on a leaky little brig filled with swill and rats, and that a lady such as herself would surely not have enjoyed a single moment of it. He simply nodded and didn’t say a word.   
  
“But, your kill! I’m sorry. I fear I’ve caused you to lose your… lunch?” She looked towards the pond where the dead duck floated limply amidst a scattering of loose feathers.   
  
“Oh, bloody-.” Forgetting himself entirely, Plunkett shed his frock and waistcoat, pulled his boots from his feet, and clambered into the shallow water to retrieve his kill. He didn’t really need it, of course he didn’t. They had enough loot to survive well enough for a while, but it would be a waste now that he had killed the poor creature. Holding the thing by the feet, Plunkett waded back to the shore under the much amused scrutiny of Miss Belle French.   
  
“You’re a bit of an odd one, aren’t you?” she asked, nothing but good humor in her eyes as she watched him set the duck on the grass and rake his hands through his hair to rid it of most of the water.   
  
“Says the girl what’s been sitting under a tree reading,” he muttered, eyeing the book still clutched tightly in her hands. “That a typical occupation for a lady in the colonies, then?” She ducked her head and Plunkett had the nerve to grin at her discomfort. “That’s what I thought. Those in glass houses ought not throw stones, love.”   
  
She looked up suddenly, her smile so brilliant that he felt winded from gazing on it.   
  
“An apothecary, then? Do you plan to open a shop here?” Her eyes glittered as she resumed her seat at the roots of the tree and watched him. Keeping one eye on her, he seated himself a respectable distance and pulled the kill into his lap. She seemed unconcerned by his actions regarding the slaughtering of an innocent beast and he wasn’t about to spare her delicate womanly sensitivities now. He began plucking the bird, tearing whole fistfuls of feathers out at once, but keeping his eyes trained on Miss French.   
  
“Perhaps,” he answered noncommittally. “We didn’t much have it planned out, really, past the sailing and the arriving.” He furrowed his brow, staring down at the partially de-feathered duck. “’Spose I could open a shop, yeah. I could….” He looked up at her again. “Wot did you say your title was?”   
  
“Oh. No title. Just Belle French. My father, Maurice French, is friends with the Governor. They fought in the war together…. A war….” She shrugged with disinterest. “I was born here, in the colonies. I’ve not had the opportunity to see much else.” She was fingering the lace of her skirts, picking at it between two fingernails. “I always wanted to see the continent, explore beyond this place, but there are too many dangers, they say. Wild beasts and the savage red Indians…. Father says it’s unsafe for the strongest of men in the wilds of America, let alone for a young lady.” Plunkett scoffed and she looked up at him, startled.   
  
“I’ve seen grown gentlemen cower before danger, Miss French, and I’ve seen women brave and strong enough to outdo most men,” he explained, focusing intently on the duck in his hands. “Give your sex some credit where it’s due; you’re capable of far more than most would think.” He thought about Rebecca, probably curled obscenely around his best mate back at the inn. “Trust me.”   
  
Miss French beamed at him. “It’s Belle, please.” Their eyes met and he gave her a crooked little smile.   
  
“Belle. I’m Will.” They were silent for a moment, watching each other, Plunkett’s hands wrapped too-tightly around his kill. Then suddenly, the moment was gone and Belle clambered to her feet, all petticoats and scrambling arms.   
  
“I’ve got to go! My father will be expecting me!”   
  
“So soon? But I was just getting interesting! I mean,” he shook his head, his words jumbled. “I mean our conversation, it was just….” The beauty giggled and gave a little curtsey.   
  
“I am certain that we will see each other again, master Plunkett.” And she was gone, just like that, in a flurry of well-made skirts and corsets.   
  
Plunkett stared after her, slightly bemused at the entire encounter. Rising easily to his feet, he pulled his clothes back on over his sodden shirt and picked up his plucked foul. As he turned to make the journey back to the inn, Plunkett looked down and saw the book that she had been reading sitting in the grass by the roots of the oak tree. He smiled faintly as he bent to pick it up, but the smile slid away when he opened the cover. There, written neatly in black ink, was:   
  
 _Property of Rear Admiral Maurice French_    
  
He nearly dropped the book in surprise. How marked were the differences here in the colonies, where a young and stunningly beautiful noblewoman might spend a few moments of shared air with a bugger like himself. He shook his head and pocketed the book. He most definitely would see Miss Belle French again. He would need to return her book to her after all, as what sort of gentleman would he be if he didn’t take it upon himself to do so personally. She wanted to see the world? Well, Plunkett had made life out of stealing before. Perhaps this little daughter of a military man wouldn’t mind being the target of a bit of a heist herself. Plunkett couldn’t help chuckling to himself as he made his way back to the inn.   
  
Yes, he thought he was going to very much enjoy life in the colonies.


End file.
